


7 days of hunting

by majel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cherubs - Freeform, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Confessions, Fairies, Family, M/M, Spirits, Werewolves, alternate season 12 canon verse, cases, cookie baking, gingerbread man, long overdue conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majel/pseuds/majel
Summary: When Mary Winchester insists on a traditional family holiday, Dean knows life is going to throw sticks and stones their way the moment a pine tree moves into the bunker. Thus, it's not a surprise when the days leading up to Christmas are indeed filled with monsters and obscurities. What Dean doesn’t expect is that, between fairies and Christmas cookie baking, long-overdue confessions and werewolves and anxious first steps, they might just manage to find their own version of Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created for the [SPN Holiday Mixtape Challenge](http://holidaymixtape.tumblr.com/) and inspired by the song “12 days of Christmas”. 
> 
> I have had the absolute pleasure to collaborate with [thefriendlypigeon](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/) on this project, who made the lovely illustrations you’ll find embedded in this story. For larger version just click on the pictures, or visit her artmasterpost on her tumblr [here](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/154728189864/7-days-of-hunting-spn-holiday-mixtape-2016). 
> 
> \----
> 
> This sets place in an alternate season 12 canon verse, where Lucifer either wasn’t a big deal or has been dealt with in a way that does not lock up any of the Winchesters in an underground facility for 6 weeks over Christmas.

 

 

[ ](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/154728189864/7-days-of-hunting-spn-holiday-mixtape-2016)

The Winchesters do not celebrate Christmas.

Nowadays it just feels too weird to celebrate the birth of the son of a guy who stole your bathrobe and watched your porn stack once. Especially when you’ve met his other kids and seen what his parenting has done to them. No-O thank you very much. Not much to celebrate here. Having met God really puts that sort of thing into perspective.

But even previous to these events they rarely had time to celebrate. For hunters Christmas is one of the busiest times of the year. The barriers between the world and the supernatural realms loosen, which leads to an unusual increase in dubious incidents. Not only humans but all beings enter a time of high-spirited festivities.

Frankly, as a hunter you are too busy  preventing misguided teenagers from summoning  old pagan gods or cleaning up after them, putting disturbed spirits back to rest and granting everything that slipped through the cracks into your world a trip back down, to get into any kind of festive spirit – unless those kind of things are your way of celebrating. Then you’re in for one hell of a party.

This year though, weeks before Christmas, a pine tree moves into the bunker’s war room. Mary insisted. No amount of reasoning on Dean and Sam’s part that they wouldn’t have time for celebrating and weren’t actually in the mood for thanking God for anything could convince her otherwise. She was determined for them to have a nice, somewhat traditional holiday time for the first time of their lives and a determined Mary Winchester is a pretty scary Mary. Not even Sam and Dean want to mess with that and they have faced down the Darkness and Lucifer themselves.

So eventually they gave in and Dean finds himself watching his brother heave the large tree down the stairs, wondering what kind of obstacles life is going to throw their way this time.

 

_7 days before Christmas Santa gave to them - 7 children running_

Christmas decorations, Dean learns – especially ornaments – are not an optional feature of the true Winchester family Christmas experience. They are obligatory. Given the bunker’s history is one of serving as a strategic headquarter and archiving the history of the supernatural, it has a pretty humble stock of things that could be considered traditional Christmas decoration.

Traditional meaning the cliché, commercial kind. Preferably something green and red, with lots glitter and fake snow and maybe even blaring some crappy music or blinking in a way that puts even people who aren't sensitive to light at the risk of having a seizure if they were to look at it for too long.

And not in the traditional pagan origin kind of way. If Mary were going for that kind of style, the bunker would have been the best supplier of suitable accessories one can imagine. There’s a replica of the god Bacchus in one of the numerous storage units which they could have put up instead of the tree.

Instead Dean finds himself wandering along the aisles of some big box store to hunt down anything that looks like it could come out of a cheap commercial to present to his mother as a ritual offering in hopes of appeasing her temper. The threat of not getting any of the pie she had brought home had unsettled him enough to give in.

That doesn’t stop Dean from hating every part of this experience with a burning kind of fervor. The stores speakers seem to blare the same three annoying Christmas songs in a neverending loop, there’s people rushing around in a sort of headless state and children begging their mothers to buy them some crappy, overpriced toy. All around there’s something blinking and glittering and it smells like cinnamon mixed with stale air and overheated people. Dean figures it’s the kind of smell that’s supposed to get you into a festive and generous kind of mood but it only makes him yearn for the moment he can step out the building again.

Sam is trailing along behind him, beaming at the displays of ornaments, garlands and light installations, excitedly throwing all sorts of things into the cart. It takes a lot of goodwill to describe them as anything other than hideous abominations. There’s a solar powered dancing Santa, a miniature with an illuminateable nose that resembles a reindeer if you squint, ornaments that feature anything from stripes to something that looks like a herd of dancing pigs wearing Christmas hats, and at least two different kinds of fake snow.

Sam holds up another huge green plastic garland and Dean rolls his eyes and turns to the closest display to study what’s on sale. There’s a soft tap on his shoulder and he turns around to find himself right in the face of a softly smiling angel.

“Jesus, Cas! Warn a guy, will you?”

“I apologize, Dean.” Cas actually does take a step back. It brings enough space between them for Dean to notice he’s carefully cradling something in his palms.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Hey, what have you got there?”

He nods in the vague direction of Castiel’s hands, curious as to what it is he’s found and Cas’ smile widens as he brings them up and opens his palms.

“I’ve found this. I thought you might want to get it for the tree.”

The thing sitting on his palms is a bee-shaped Christmas ornament and it’s not even one of the cheap plastic ones they usually sell at these kind of places. It’s made of real glass and though it’s clearly mass produced, it seems too delicate to be sold in a box store in Nowhere, Kansas. It’s the first thing Dean doesn’t find absolutely hideous and the smile it brings to Cas’ face is definitely worth the extra bucks it costs. Sammy can part with a few garlands and that awful reindeer for all he cares.

“Yeah it’s beautiful. You should definitely put it in the card.”

Cas beams and hurries after Sam who’s already rounding the next corner. Before rushing after them, Dean grabs a headband off the shelf he’s been checking out. It has antlers with little bells attached to it. He chuckles at the prospect of making his brother wear the thing on Christmas. Might even take a picture and send it to Crowley. They guy sure could use some cheering up. And now that’s a thing he’d never think he’d be doing, sending Christmas cards to the king of Hell.

He rounds the corner and nearly crashes into the giant frame of his brother, who is staring at Cas and frowning the way he usually does when he finds the angel to be particularly difficult. Usually that means Cas has asked some sort of awkward question Sam is uncomfortable explaining, but Cas is sporting a similar kind of facial expression and Dean feels like he’s suddenly jumped into a scene right out of a comic book, looking from one man to the other trying to figure out what happened.

Cas raises his hand, pointing at something behind them. “This is not an authentic representation of Saint Nikolaos of Myra, Sam. I know for certain that he wore neither red robes nor a long white beard or a bobble head. And I very much doubt that man is appropriately qualified to give out blessings to children.”

Sam stares and shakes his head. “Of course he’s not an authentic representation of Saint Nicholas. It’s just a mall Santa, Cas.”

Dean laughs as he steps around his brother and he takes in the man in a red costume and a long white beard, who is seated on chair on a little display that has been put up in one of the store’s corners. A small line of parents waits with their children. A teenage girl wearing similar antlers to the ones Dean had just thrown into the cart, is just helping a little girl off of Santa’s lap and directing her back to a pair of waiting women.

“I take it the man you refer to as Santa Claus is based on and a tribute to the historical figure of the Greek Bishop of Myra, more commonly known as Saint Nicholas. I assure you that man looks nothing like him.”

Cas’ brows are drawn together as he turns around, and he looks at them in such confusion that Dean would think he’s adorable, if he’d allow himself to have those kind of thoughts.

Instead Dean claps Castiel on the shoulder in a gesture that hopefully communicates brotherly affection and explains, “I’m sure he isn’t. Santa’s not really about Saint Nicholas. Not nowadays anyway.”

He lets his hand linger, rubbing Cas' shoulder through his many layers. Cas just tilts his head and stares intently at him until he settles on: “So what’s it about then?”

“The kids. They get to go up there and sit on his lap and tell him what they want to have for Christmas. The parents can take a picture and it’s just for fun. It’s tradition. It’s just what you do. Everyone has done it at some point.”

“Well I haven’t,” Cas hums, turning back around to look at the scene some more and Dean’s hand falls back to his side. It suddenly feels cold without the contact to another body and he curls it into a fist. He’s not sure what to do now and awkwardly glances at Sam who’s still staring at Cas. Geez, and his brother accuses Cas of having a staring problem.

He shifts his gaze back to Cas, who watches with a mixture of fascination and something Dean can’t quite place, as the next child climbs onto Santa’s lap and smiles at his parents who are waiting behind the barrier and pointing their cellphones at them.

“I guess it’s nice”, Cas finally says quietly and shuffles on the spot. “It looks like it’s fun … For the children, of course.”

The look on his face is sort of melancholic and Dean’s about to ask if he’s alright, but Sam must have picked up on it too because suddenly he blurts out: “Do you want to sit on Santa’s lap, Cas?”

“No,” Cas rushes to say as his eyes widen, though the blush that creeps onto his cheeks tells a different story and he’s quick to add, “I know that this is just for children. I was just thinking it must be nice to have those kinds of memories.”

The thought of Cas, an angel of the lord, sitting on Santa's lap has Dean breaking out into a grin and he barely represses the uprising giggle. Partly because Winchesters do not giggle and also because he really doesn’t want to offend Cas.

“You know …”, Dean starts, tugging lightly on the sleeve of the trench coat to get Castiel’s full attention, “I guess we could ask if we could get a picture. I mean if that’s what you wanted. There’s only a few more kids in line. They might let you do it.”

To his utter surprise Cas does seem offended by this.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. I know you think it’s funny when I make a fool of myself when I … misinterpret some human customs but I really don’t appreciate you trying to trick me into embarrassing myself.”

“What?” Dean gasps and he’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging a little open as he stares at Cas. “No. I wasn’t going to make fun of you. I mean, okay, it is pretty funny but I was just—I thought it would be funny in a nice way for you to catch up on Christmas experiences.”

Sam is still wordlessly staring but at least Cas’ face seems to somewhat soften at this. There is a slight furrow to his brow, as though he’s not really sure Dean’s not mocking him, so Dean quickly adds: “You know what? You want to sit on Santa’s lap? That’s fine. Why shouldn’t you. We’re not gonna laugh. Know what? We’ll do it with you. Hell, I’ll even go first. God knows – literally – that’s not the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. “

And that’s how Dean finds himself walking up the little step of the platform to sit on Santa’s lap in a no-name discount store at age 37.  He’s still somewhat astonished they convinced the girl with the antlers to let them in but then there weren’t currently any children waiting and he’s pretty sure she thought Sam was cute.

“Well … aren’t you a sweet little one,” Santa says as Dean walks up to him, his eyes widening just a little. He’s probably afraid Dean’s going to crush him, which is probably a justified concern.

“Actually I think I’m adorable.” Dean grins and bends forward to talk, quietly adding: “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna crush you. We’re just thought we’d take a picture for our mom. Thought they might make her laugh. Is that okay with you?”

The guy nods and Dean carefully sits down on his knees, mindful to support most of his weight himself. He looks over to the barrier where Sam is holding up his phone and shouting: “Smile!”

Dean pokes out his tongue at him and hops off Santa to take over the phone while Cas walks up to the platform. His posture is stiff and awkward and the poor guy looks like he has no idea what to do. Dean makes sure to capture it all with a dozen of crappy cellphone shots and when Cas has finally sat down and looks up at him, he echos his brother’s words and calls “Smile!” before he hits the button several times to take a picture. Better safe than sorry.

“All done,” Dean says and Cas immediately jumps up to walk over to him. There is a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and when he fondly bumps into Dean’s side to get a look at the picture he has taken, Dean figures it was worth the humiliation.

As he turns to watch his brother take his turn, there are loud footsteps and the noise of several people shouting behind him. Alarmed he turns his head to look down the aisle the noise comes from and is only quick enough to catch a blur of colors as a group of little kids rushes past him. Several of them bump into him in their haste to be the first one in line.

There is a pair of woman hurrying after them and one of them shouts “Hey, I said no running!” but the kids don’t listen as they race toward Santa.

Sam is about to take the little step up to the platform as the first kid reaches the barrier. He’s running full speed and Dean knows he won’t be able to stop in time and is about to collide with his giant of a brother, so he yells, “Sam, watch out!”

It’s too late though. The little boy crashes into Sam’s leg, which probably hurts him more than it hurts Sam, but Sam, apparently oblivious to the herd of children storming up to him, misses the edge of the platform with his foot and loses his balance. The kid at least is clever enough to jump for cover as Sam’s giant body sways and crashes to the ground.

Dean and Cas rush over to prevent any further damage. There are seven little pairs of eyes looking sheepishly at them and the two women – who turn out to be their babysitters – give them a stern look before they extensively apologize for their behavior.

The little convict seems rueful enough and hides himself behind their legs while he peeps up with an apology himself and Dean would find the whole thing hilarious if it wasn’t for the limp in his brother’s walk as they take their leave and make their way to the checkout.

“Well at least this Christmas it’s only kids attacking me,” Sam jokes as they store their bags into the Impala. “Could have been worse. No monsters, no gods. I think that counts as a win.”

“Yeah it’s also not Christmas yet,” Dean says and climbs into the Impala, “So I wouldn’t get my hopes up too much.”

 

_6 days before Christmas Santa gave to them - 6 fairies pranking._

The next day Dean and Sam get called to a case in a small rural town – just a couple of hours’ drive from the bunker - with nothing much to it but a few strange occurrences.

A farmer claims that one morning his cows had suddenly turned multicolored, his family’s beds were filled with hay, while he himself woke up in one of his fields without any knowledge of getting there after he went to bed the previous night.

Dean would dismiss this as delirium caused by too much eggnog if it wasn’t for several reports of people claiming to have seen ‘dancing lights’ above the farmer’s fields. In Dean’s line of work those are unfortunately the kind of pointers that tell you you might be onto something. Not that he wasn’t expecting it but it sucks anyway.

What's even more annoying than your recently back-from-the-dead mother being in the Christmas Spirit is her opinion that a sprained ankle disqualifies Sam from hunting. Not that Cas hasn’t healed Sam but apparently even angelic healed injuries must be treated with rest, according to their mother’s book.

Therefore, Sam gets to sprawl on the couch, being fussed over and getting served that piece of leftover pie that Dean already had his eyes on. While he meanwhile takes the Impala down the frosted roads to check out what on earth thinks dying cattle rainbow coloured is a worthwhile activity. Given his luck, this will turn out to be either A) some weird kind of LGBT protest slash awareness campaign or B) a very new approach to the apocalypse.

At least Cas volunteered to come with him as backup. Dean is silently looking forward to getting to spend some quality time with his friend – and exactly what does it say about him that tracking down cattle vandals counts as quality time now – until he produces a cassette tape out of nowhere and swaps it for Dean’s current choice of music.

Dean’s a little shocked that Cas so bluntly challenged his music choice authority but then a Christmas song that would even put yesterday’s shitty store music to shame starts blaring. Dean glares at him but Castiel just shrugs and beams. Dean knows he’s too much of a sucker for those happy smiles of his to actually do anything about it.

He’s also quietly happy Cas seems like he has finally settled in their little group enough to feel comfortable to claim things for himself without asking first. His presence is a solid warmth beside Dean, which makes him content enough with the moment to be willing to sit through any number of hours of crappy Christmas songs if it that means he gets to keep this.

When an especially awful version of ’12 Days of Christmas’ begins he notices that Castiel is happily humming along and Dean cannot prevent his fingers from lightly tapping the beat on the steering wheel. It’s awful, but it’s also a damn nice, peaceful moment.

 

They end up chasing fairies for the rest of the day.  Turns out the dairy farm attracted the attention of those twinkling, fluttering bastards. They slipped through the realms in search for something to spice up their festivities and are now feasting on the cream that is stored literally everywhere.

It’s easy for Dean to figure that out because he can actually see the damn things and they are not even trying to be subtle about it , fluttering around the property not giving a shit that he very clearly notices them.  

Dean wants to nuke them all in the microwave.

Cas votes they try a less hostile approach first.

So of all things Dean finds himself reasoning with five clearly high fairies who hiccup and giggle through the whole negotiation. Their eye are glazed, not focusing on anything too long. There is even fricking glitter and seriously, how is this his life?

The fairies eventually agree to return to their realm if provided with a couple of barrels of cream, which shall be delivered to the field and left for them to be pick up at night. Dean’s had to take way worse deals than that to solve a case, so he agrees.

He doesn’t even care how mental it sounds as he delivers this to the farmer who looks at them like they have completely lost it. It’s not like the fairies have been harmful and if the guy doesn’t buy Dean’s story or is unwilling to part with a little bit of cream, he can goddam deal with a couple of fairy pranks himself.

At least Cas looks genially happy when they climb back into the car and Dean thinks the Christmas mood must be rubbing off on him as settles into the driver’s seat and reaches to turn on Cas’ tape himself.

The whole thing is just as awful as before and completely corny but the smile on Cas’ face settles into a wide grin and that’s completely worth a couple of hours of musical torture.

 

_5 days before Christmas Santa gave to them - 5 gingerbread men._

Dean is nesting. He knows he is. Ever since they first moved into the bunker he has constantly been catching up on all the missed domesticity of his life. Having a permanent residence, where you don’t have to worry about being taken over by evil at any given moment, really has it perks.

He might be a little annoyed at himself for acting like a mix of a teenaged girl and TV commercial, but the urge to protect and nurture what little family he has left is so deeply ingrained that every so often he cannot prevent from striving for those superficial homey things.

So when he’s at the store a day after the fairy incident to stock up on groceries, he doesn’t even think about it as he puts the gingerbread cookie mix into the cart. It comes with multiple little tubes of premade icing for decorating and a cookie cutter. The process is completely subconscious and he cannot be held accountable for this, especially when everyone around him is acting like Christmas is actually a thing this year. It’s natural that it is going to rub off onto him at some point.

He only starts wondering what on earth exactly he’s going to do with the box of cookie mix later when he’s in the kitchen putting away the groceries. Well, _bake_ is the obvious answer of course but he’s never baked cookies before, even from a mix. Not like living on the road or in the odd motel offered the opportunity. If he focuses hard enough Dean thinks he might  remember making one of those bake-from-frozen pies once at Bobby’s but that’s just sticking something in an oven and hardly qualifies as baking. More like warming things up. Now that he thinks about it, he’s not even sure if he likes gingerbread.

He’s squinting at the package and checking out the instructions on the back, his arms resting on the kitchen counter, when there are footsteps behind him, shortly followed by a “Dean?” and Cas appears in the kitchen.

Dean immediately abandons the box on the counter and turns, trying to strategically place himself between Cas’ line of sight and the reason he feels slightly caught. He leans back on the edge of the counter and raises his eyebrows. The look he aims for is unbothered and innocent but he knows that it’s not working and that his smile is a little too fake when Cas suspiciously tilts his head and says, “Is everything alright?”

The guy has been with them long enough to see through their bullshit by now. He knows when Dean is deflecting.

“Yeah.” Dean nods, pushing himself away from the counter. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed about a box of gingerbread. “I’ve just been … you know.” He continues turning sideways and sort of swaying his hand in the air in a nervous attempt to point at the box on the counter. “Baking.”

“I see,” Cas notes.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, running his hand through his hair to stop it from continuing to awkwardly wave in the air. “Christmas cookies. It’s traditional.”

“I see.” Though Cas doesn’t seem convinced at all. If anything he’s fixing the box with an equally confused look as he gave the mall Santa. “I always pictured baking to involve more of a - mess.” The corners of his mouth are twitching and there’s a smug look settling over his features that anyone else might miss. “And ingredients,” he concludes.

Dean lets out a barking laugh. Never let anyone say that Castiel doesn’t have a sense of humor.

“Well, I’m still trying to figure out the instructions. Who would have thought summoning rituals are actually a hell of a lot easier to follow than gingerbread mix.”

That comment rewards him with an amused grin and Cas hums in acknowledgement, as Dean squints down at the instructions again. It’s true. He does feel more at home putting together spells and ritual sacrifices than interpreting the instruction “Lightly beat the egg.” He wasn’t aware there were different ways of beating eggs until now. Whisking has always done the job so far.

“So what’s up Cas?” he asks when he notices that has Cas neither left nor offered further explanation to why he’d been looking for Dean in first place. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms that Cas is still just standing there watching him. Dean figures he might as well actually give making these gingerbread men try while he waits for Cas to talk and starts collecting a bowl and ingredients.

“Nothing,” Cas offers, at last moving forward to stand next to Dean at the counter. He seems content enough to simply watch Dean pull out all the different packages and containers.

Dean takes a moment to frown at the collection in front of him - he didn’t think that a mixture would be coming with so many individual things to still put together – before he prompts, “So you just came to watch me doing whatever?”

Cas shrugs. “I enjoy spending time with you. And that’s what Christmas is about, isn’t it? Spending time with your family?”

“Right,” Dean replies because he suddenly can’t think of anything better to say and he quickly adds, “Well. That’s - good. You’re at the right place then.” Which really isn’t all that eloquent either.

But Cas just looks at him happily when Dean catches his eyes and there’s this warm, content feeling in Dean’s stomach, while at the same time it feels like he might also be sick any moment and his face is way too hot.

The Winchesters aren’t good at the whole talking thing. Usually an appreciative clap on the shoulder is as good as it gets. Considering their history, Dean basically just rocked the whole talking thing and, given there’s no impending catastrophe to be taken care of afterward, they end up staring at each other.

“So Christmas cookie baking,” Dean says when he finally snaps out of it. He finds a rolling pin and holds it out to Castiel. “I guess that’s another first time Christmas tradition for you to try. You wanna help?”

Cas seems more than happy to partake in this first-time adventure and Dean doesn’t even have to fake that happy blissful domestic feeling. Getting to share this experience with Cas is good enough in itself.

No matter the age of the participants it seems inevitable that baking ends in a complete mess. Especially if all participants are first-time bakers.

After the first batch goes smoothly and Dean learns that yes, he does actually like gingerbread he decides that 16 of them are definitely not enough. That’s not going to last for even a couple of days between him and Sam. In absence of any more mix he has to revert to trying to make them from scratch though and over the course of preparing the next trays of tiny, carefully arranged gingerbread men the bunker’s kitchen turns into a complete chaos.

There are several bowls piling on the counters, messy fingerprints everywhere and Sam, drawn into the kitchen by the smell of the first cookies baking in the oven, literally sticks to the floor because they accidentally knocked over the molasses and it spilled everywhere.

 

He joins them in decorating the first gingerbread man, his large hands struggling with the ridiculously small icing tubes. Dean laughs at him wholeheartedly until Sam grabs a handful of flour and throws it at his head. Which of course just leads to Dean smearing syrup onto his cheek when he’s looking the other way and the kitchen becomes a greater mess every passing minute.

It’s completely ridiculous.

Mary shows up halfway through the decorating, hovering in the doorway. She watches them like she wants to take part without disrupting them. It feels strange that she’s always wary of imposing or forcing herself onto them, like she has no right to take part of those moments – like she’s unsure if she would be even welcome to join. But their lives are all so twisted that it sort of makes sense that they share more of a family bond with each other than with their mother. They have had years to form this familiarity, years they never got to share with Mary. And though they love her, she’s basically still a stranger. So it’s probably okay that they are trying but not really there yet.

Dean smiles at her and holds out one of the little icing tubes.

They work their way through the whole batch and while Dean just covers the gingerbread man in chocolate, icing and whatever toppings he can reach - he’s no artist, so he might as well be efficient – Sam and Mary at least paint little faces, and dots for buttons and sometimes even clothes and shoes onto the cookies. Cas though seems pretty into it and spends an incredibly long time on each of the little figures, carefully working out their individual features with the icing.

In the time it takes for them to decorate all of the others, Cas manages to finish exactly five gingerbread man, which he carefully places onto a large place as opposed to piling them on the cooling racks with the others.

They are incredibly detailed for homemade gingerbread man and Dean immediately recognizes what they are. Judging on the intake of breath beside him, Sam does also.

The top row is them. Little gingerbread Cas, surrounded by Sam and Dean. Easily recognizable by trench coat, plaid and hair. Dean’s miniature even has green eyes. The next one has long blonde hair and is probably supposed to be Mary. There’s another one who must be Bobby, because it looks like Cas attempted to give it a cap and a beard and Dean feels his throat close up.

“We are so not going to eat these,” Sam says beside him and brings his hand up to Cas’ shoulder in one of those appreciative shoulder claps. Castiel looks like he’s a little embarrassed but also deeply pleased. “Man, those are so cool!”

“I wanted to do Ellen, Jo, Charlie and Kevin too but I didn’t have enough time.”

“They won’t mind”, Dean chokes and rests his hand on his other shoulder. “Thanks Cas. These are great.”

Together they stare at their little gingerbread family, while Mary politely hangs back until they remember they are being incredibly sappy, still sort of holding on to one another and hurry to step apart. There is only so much emotionalism the Winchester family can take on a normal day. Mary chooses that moment to throw a cleaning rag at Dean to remind them the kitchen still looks like a battlefield.

As first-time Christmas cookies making goes, Dean thinks, they pretty much rocked it.

 

 

[ ](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/154728189864/7-days-of-hunting-spn-holiday-mixtape-2016)

 

_4 days before Christmas Santa gave to them - 4 howling werewolves._

In a hunter’s book, dealing with mischievous fairies, Christmas baking and overcrowded discount stores is as peaceful as it can possibly get in the days prior to Christmas. And hugely unsettling. It doesn’t sit right with Dean that nothing more dramatic has turned up so far. It leaves the sour feeling that something is still in hiding, laying low, waiting to jump at them the moment they turn their backs. Dealing with bloodthirsty vampires and witches running wild—that’s the kind of stuff a hunter is used to dealing with. Not bizarre but harmless incidents and domesticity.

Therefore, Dean is not even surprised when he’s woken by several loud knocks on his door and his mother yelling: “Dean! Dean, get up. We’ve got a case.”

As a matter of fact, Dean feels slightly relieved upon entering the kitchen and hearing that a shitload of bodies with missing hearts turned up around Hastings last night. Werewolves. Given the amount of bodies in a single night, probably several of them. This is something he can deal with. If it’s bloody and awful - even better. Less of a chance some real shit is going to blow up in their faces in the end. Dean can really do without another Armageddon at Christmas as payback for too many quiet days.

He’s already teaming up with Sam to collect a decent repertoire of silver weapons to take with them when Mary objects that there wasn’t a full moon last night. They both stop to stare at her, because sometimes it’s easy to forget that their awesome, kickass hunter-raised mother is now basically a junior compared to their own experience. That the stuff she was used to dealing with back in the days was just the beginner league of messed up and evil.

Sam finally takes pity and offers, “Yeah, mom, but it’s Christmas,” as a way of explanation and when that doesn’t help adds, “Nothing cares about rules around Christmas.”

Mary nods but it’s obvious she’s just accepting this to avoid another awkward situation. Another one of those moments where it’s obvious how much she’s missed, how much the world doesn’t fit to her understanding anymore.

Dean balls his hands into fists and decides that this is the perfect moment to go call Garth about any intel he might have.

There are four of them and they are not the nice, unaware kind of werewolves. They are the mad, violent, over complacent sort. It’s not hard to find them because they didn’t even bother to cover their tracks for anyone who knew what they were looking for.

A trail of heartless, maltreated bodies winds its way across the US.  The targets are all a good six to ten hours’ drive from each other and from what information they can gather of the crime scenes around Hastings and what Sam can dig up on the net, there is no indication that someone took the effort to attempt to cover up the massacres. It looks like Christmas threw the little pack into a full-blown blood rage and left them with nothing more than murder on their minds. The real surprise is that no other hunter has stopped them so far.

It’s easy to follow them to a shack, on a fallow piece of land among the fields. What isn’t quite as easy is to gank those son-of-bitches. They were surprisingly expecting them – or at least some sort of danger - and driven by madness and fueled to superhuman strength by the weakening of the realms, instantly engage them in a half fight, half chase across the snow-covered fields.

Dean is incredibly glad Cas insisted on tagging along because this way they are four against four and one deadly, full-strength werewolf per person is more than enough.  It’s bloody and brutal and exactly the way Dean remembers Christmas to be.

In the end Sam has taken a blow to the head, there is a nasty scratch along Mary’s cheek and Dean is slumped down on the ground because his ribs hurt and he’s sure he’s bruised the whole left side of his torso. He doesn’t even care about the snow. He’s cold and wet at this point anyway.

“You shouldn’t be sitting in the snow.” Cas says, squinting down at Dean disapprovingly. “I believe that is not particularly beneficial to your health.”

Dean lets out an amused huff and smiles. Because yeah it probably isn’t but who the hell cares. And also, because obviously, Cas does. Those are the moments Dean is so grateful Chuck decided to give Cas back to him every time he’s been taken away so far because even when they are freezing and bleeding on a field in freaking Hastings, Nebraska Cas manages to light up the moment and make his day brighter just by – being. There are only a few things Dean wouldn’t give to keep that forever.

He contemplates throwing a bit of snow at Cas to irritate him and maybe coax out one of his confused-slash-amused expressions Dean loves so much, but before he can decide Mary interferes with his plan by saying, “Ah give it a break. We won’t freeze to death from a little bit of snow. And opposed to you, we old people actually need to catch our breath after that kind of a chase.” She winks at Dean and – how weird is it that they are about the same age now - lets herself fall to the ground beside him.

“I would like to inform you that I’m technically more than a million years old. Neither of you qualify as ‘old people’ from my point of view.” Cas informs her sternly. He even uses the little air quotes and Dean and Sam, recognizing the joke for what it is, bubble up in laughter, while Mary blinks at him, a little foolish.

Eventually Sam joins them on the ground and Castiel crouches above them, reaching for Dean’s side with one hand, bringing the other to Mary’s cheek. “At least allow me to tend to your wounds.”

A cold, soothing tingle spreads through Dean, leaving him recovered and pain free after seconds. The air smells slightly of ozone. It’s all so familiar by now that he just lets himself fall backwards in the snow, enjoying the feeling of a wholly healed body, while Cas moves over to Sam.

“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbles, spreading his arms and knees out, moving them to make a snow angel. “Guess we’re really lucky. Having our own guardian angel and all.”

There’s a fond expression on Cas face as he gets back up and looks at Dean and the slightly angel-sized form he’s made in the snow. Picture-book-angel sized, of course, not celestial-wavelength-of-intent-angel sized. But there’s that look on his face that Dean was aiming for so it’s good enough. Dean would vehemently deny that he did that on purpose but he’s glad it worked and so he grins up at him and Cas grins back.

And then Sam clears his throat and just because Dean can, and Sam’s a little bitch that has a talent of barging into the best moments, he throws a handful of snow at Sam. The snowball fight that emerges is one of epic portions, as Cas and Mary join shortly, and leaves all human participants panting for breath and absolutely everyone doubling up with laughter and wide, happy grins on their faces.

 

 

[ ](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/154728189864/7-days-of-hunting-spn-holiday-mixtape-2016)

 

_3 days before Christmas Santa gave to them - 3 cherubs drinking._

They need to split up the next day. Mary and Cas drive west for something that sounds like a simple salt and burn, while Dean and Sam hit the roads north. There’s a small town about a four-hour drive from Lebanon that has had an increased number of incidents over that last couple of days that suspiciously sound like their kind of odd.

Dean would have preferred it if either he or Sam had teamed up with their mother instead of Cas, but Mary insisted on doing it this way. Salt-and-Burn she can handle. All the odd stuff is more their field of expertise, she claimed. That Cas has been dealing with way odder stuff for longer than any of them have been alive didn’t quite qualify as an argument for his case and therefore Dean simply gave in. Same as with the Christmas tree. It seems it’s just as hard as a 37-year-old to take issue with one’s mother as it is as a kid. Especially when you’ve missed 30 plus years of growing into taking a stand against that parent. He’s also confident in Cas’ capabilities and doesn’t want him to feel like he doesn’t trust him to keep their mother save. Because Dean does. He’d trust Cas with his life and that of everyone he loves in a heartbeat. Thinking about it he already has several times, so there’s no real argument against their travelling arrangements, except maybe that he would have preferred to spend time with either one of the people who tend not to stick around much, but he sure as hell isn’t going to admit that. Not even the Christmas spirit can get Dean to do that. Everything has its limits.

He tries to comfort himself with the knowledge that the chances they’ll end up as a Christmas dinner snack again is minimal. The events they’re investigating all seem pretty harmless. Weird but harmless.

People suddenly dumping their whole life and running off with new partners; the local priest delivering a surprising and emotional declaration of love to a waitress during mass; an 82-year-old granny of five coming out to her family by publicly announcing her long-time pen pal from Minnesota to be her secret affair since the 1950’s; and general declarations of love and feelings everywhere as well as an extraordinary amount of actions that easily qualify as indecent public behavior.

It’s all really absurd and silly but then that seems to be the Winchesters’ standard setting nowadays. Dean guesses that even sort of makes sense. There’s always that one climax scene in long stories that’s so great and big, everything after it is obscure and bizarre in an attempt trump it. They’ve passed that point several times already. So here they are investigating fairies, and PDA.

Dean would be all too willing to laugh it off as a side effect of Christmas spirit and leave them to happily fuck each other’s brains out – or longingly stare into each other’s eyes for all he cares. But then he would feel bad if they’d all end up eaten or turned into zombies or whatever.

They track down the priest and he happily shares the “revelation” he supposedly received. He’d been secretly in love with a girl – a middle-aged woman now – ever since they went to high school together but never dared speak to her back then. Later she’d married and given his occupation, he had considered it improper to approach her in a romantic way when her marriage had broken apart. Two days ago, God had then come to him and encouraged him to finally acknowledge the feelings he’d been suppressing for so long, in the form of an emotional clearness that suddenly struck through him.

Dean solemnly doubts Chuck had any part in this. Especially if the topics involved are emotions and clarity. That guy is a freaking clusterfuck of nebulous, half thought through obscurities. If this had been God’s doing, he would have at least had the people confess their feelings in binary code to make it even more inscrutable, not just plain out admitting their stuff. Where’s the fun in that? Most likely the priest had been hit with some sort of truth spell or potion. Dean is all the more interested to learn that “God” allegedly revealed Himself to the priest during a visit to a local bar called ‘Cupid.’ than in any sort of theory that involves god. Or for that matter any of his relatives - except Cas. Cas is the one okay relative among this very troubled celestial family.

Sam votes to check out the bar and Dean agrees, because even though it sounds like the guy just had a couple of drinks too much and acted on alcohol-infused courage, it’s unlikely a large portion of the town has been doing that simultaneously. It’s the one lead they’ve got and hey, maybe they’ll find an unscrupulous witch who slips potions into people's drinks or something. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

 “You know, this doesn’t seem like the sort of bustling place that could contaminate that many people,” Sam notes when they’re standing in front of the slightly rundown door of the pub. The neon sign is still turned off, and there’s no sound swelling outside to indicate any sort of unusual crowd of people. It basically looks empty.

“It’s half past three on a Thursday afternoon. What do you expect?” Dean shrugs and pushes the door open. “Come on; let’s check this out. Worst case, we don’t find anything and we go back talking to that 80-year-old. Best case, we gank some witch.”

The bar isn’t empty. They are greeted by the sight of three men, one of which is only wearing some sort of loin cloth, another wearing leotard tights but nothing else, and one in a suit that is so nicely tailored it’s out of place even without the display of half-naked fashion atrocities next to it. The three are swaying in their seats at the bar, wildly swinging around huge beer mugs, while singing something that remotely reminds Dean of the reprise of ’12 days of Christmas’. He’d be annoyed to have this stupid Christmas song sneaking up on him yet again if he weren’t that baffled by what he sees.

Sam must be equally at a loss for an appropriate reaction because he just stutters out some sort of “Uhm?” and stumbles into Dean, who stopped moving in favor of staring ahead. They both tumble forwards and barely miss crashing to the ground, as they both lose their balance. By the time they’ve straightened themselves up the men have aborted their Christmas caroling and turned around in their seats to goggle at them with surprised expressions. Sam and Dean wordlessly stare back. There’s only so much you can handle on a Thursday afternoon without even being on you first beer.

Dean’s still trying to formulate any sort of comment, when their opponents break out into huge grins and simultaneously yell “The Winchesters”, raising up their arms in excitement and spilling beer everywhere.

“You know us?” Sam asks confused. Dean just keeps staring. Maybe if he just keeps really still this madness isn’t going to unfold itself upon him, but luck doesn’t seem to be in his favor.

“Sure we do!” the man in the loin cloth exclaims and rushes forward to wrap him into one hell of a bone crushing hug. “Everyone knows you!”

When the man lets go and moves over to wrap himself around Sam the suit guy follows up immediately and throws himself at Dean. “Not everyone’s a fan, with you guys being the ones to lock up heaven - but _we_ love you!”

“Um, thanks?” Dean offers when the man steps back to grab Sammy and is rewarded with a happy grin.

“We’re seriously huge fans,” leotard tights offers as he steps up to pull Dean into a final hug. “Didn’t think we’d ever cross ways though!”

“And you guys are?”

“Cherubs of course!” Loin cloths beams and gives him a look that’s caught between “Isn’t-it-obvious” and “Dude-what-did-you-think-we-were.” He waves them over to the bar and sits back on one of the stools. “Come. Come. Sit with us!”

There are red spots around his nose and the way he keeps swaying Dean’s pretty sure the cherub is drunk as hell. The other two aren’t looking any fresher either. Fan-fucking-tastic. But at least they’re no immediate threat. Annoying but well … there are worse things out there than a cherub, though neither of them happened to come across a drunk one yet. Seems like Chuck’s family has been involved in this after all.

“Cherubs,” Sam mumbles just loud enough for Dean to catch. “Explains all the hugging.”

“Yeah. Still really not a fan of that,” he says, rolling his eyes and leans onto the counter only to grimace in disgust as his sleeve soaks through with spilled beer. He groans and, doing his best to put on his intimidating face, straightens up again. “So you guys been feeding the people here some love potions?”  

Three mugs thump down onto the counter with a loud clatter and three pairs of huge eyes turn on him again.

“What? No. - Why would we do that?” loin cloth asks. He seems seriously hurt Dean would assume any such thing. “That’s not what we do. That would be completely against our mission.”

“Why should we hook up some random people?” Suit guy asks with a tilt of his head and Dean has to suppress a chuckle. Angelic expression of confusion number one. If there’s one sign those guys are honestly startled, it’s this.

“Strange things are happening and we find three cherubs binge drinking in a deserted bar. What are we supposed to think?”

“Well whatever is happening here. It sure wasn’t us!” the leotard cherub offers and takes another swig from his mug. “We’re just having a little Christmas get-together of our own.” Something flickers through his eyes and he adds, “With heaven closed it gets a bit lonely during this time. We’ve got to make do with what we have.”

Dean nods and he feels slightly guilty because he’s part of the reason the cherubs have to spend their holidays in a rundown bar in a small town of Kansas. He’s not sure there actually is an angelic holiday season – he can’t remember Chuck ever mentioning Jesus or his opinion on Christmas – but if there is, it’s probably supposed to be spent on a cosmic, joyful dimension of light. He must remember to ask Cas about that. They should try to acknowledge and include his traditions too.

“I’m sorry.” Sam sniffs and draws Dean back from his thoughts. His eyes are a little bloodshot and he’s blinking repeatedly. Dean would find it odd if his heart wasn’t aching, seeing his brother hurting. On instinct he steps forward and wraps his arm around him. Sam needs a good hug right now - one that isn’t given by a cherub. They really ought to hug more in general. “I’m really sorry I’ve put you through this. We didn’t want to take your home from you.”

“Ah don’t fret it,” leotard tights says, “Given the choice I’d still rather be stuck here with a beer than in the apocalypse. So, here’s to you guys!”

The cherubs raise their beers in union and take another sip. When they lower the mugs again loin cloth leans forward in excitement. “So what'cha investigating? You said weird stuff is happening?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. People being overly emotional, that kind of stuff. There’s this priest. Sad little guy and slightly ridiculous. I mean that guy seriously believes God gave him some kind of revelation.” He snorts. “Anyway, he confesses his love to his old high-school crush and then this old lady just straight out admits to the public she’s been gay for her pen pal for like ever. Which seriously – awesome! You go, lady!” For emphasis he bumps his fist in the air.

“Dean!” Sam laughs a little disapprovingly and Dean untangles himself from Sam to let him rub at his eyes.

“What?” he asks, raising his hands in question because now that he has started, he finds he has more to say about this. “She’s awesome! Admitting to that part of yourself after so many years, it’s scary! What that woman did, that takes balls. It’s impressive. Makes you glad to know it’s never too late to go after what you want.”

There’s a puzzled expression on his brother’s face. “You really think that?”

The slow thump of Dean’s heart is painfully echoing through his body and he finds it suddenly hard to swallow. Sam is hurting he realizes and he wants to fix it. He’s desperate to fix this, always has been. If he could, he’d happily spend another 40 years in hell to make it all better but Sam wouldn’t want him to make that sacrifice.

“Actually I’m scared shitless. And I’m not sure if it’s because I’m afraid it’s not true or because I’m afraid it is. Because Sam what if it isn’t too late and I’ll just never find the courage? What if you do and all I’ve got left is hunting. I don’t want that.”

There is no sane reason why he should be saying this now, of all moments. He briefly wonders if he’s been hit with some sort of truth spell but dismisses the thought. It’s not that he couldn’t be lying right now, he just doesn’t want to. He could perfectly well shut up right now. He could, but at the same time he’s feeling so much. It’s all suddenly, perfectly clear in his head -- the emotions that are usually a deep, tangled mess. He now has a chance to get a grip on them. They are all neatly lined up for him to feel and it’s so easy to address them and god, now Sam has tears strolling down his face. He rushes forward and Dean finds himself in yet another hug. This one’s good though. It’s comforting.

“I’d never leave you alone, Dean. I love you!” There it is. Something must be seriously wrong here because there’s no way Sam is saying that in the middle of a small-town bar. But he just did and Dean doesn’t know if he’s going to die of relief or heartache. “I don’t even want to give up on this anymore. It’s our life and sometimes it’s good and sometimes it isn’t. I just want to find a way to have more and I’m afraid that it’s either not gonna happen or that I’d have to leave you behind because you can’t accept that this is a possibility. And I can’t do that, Dean.”

Dean draws Sam in a little closer and holds him tight. His shoulders are trembling and Dean keeps blinking away tears of his own. “I wouldn’t want you to have to choose, Sam. I would love if you could have that life – if we could have that life.”

“It’d be nice to have someone, wouldn’t it?” Sam says drawing back. “I mean, I love you, man but - it’s not the same, you know?”

“Yeah I do.” Dean sighs. “That’s the reason I’m so glad Cas sticks around so much recently. I really like him. He makes things easier.”

“He does.” Sam nods and smiles. “He’s family. I’m fucking relieved he’s okay for once. It’s great having him around. Cas is great.”

Bringing his arm up to nervously run a hand through his hair, Dean takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah he is. And he’s cute, isn’t he?” It feels so good to actually say it, like he’s been holding his breath without even knowing and is finally breathing again. “That smile of his? AMAZING!”

He grins at Sam, whose eyes widen to the appropriate size of dinner plates.

“Uhm...” His mouth hangs open in a little “O” and Dean feels like bubbling up with laughter. “Uh -yeah I guess?”

“I mean, I have no idea what this thing is. I really don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time. It’s all so messed up in here.” Dean taps his head. “Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna puke because of all those butterflies fluttering around in my gut. But mostly I just feel really good around him. He makes me want to smile at stupid shit and hug everyone. And the rest of the time I just feel really horny.”

For once, Sam is speechless. His mouth opens and closes a few times, making him look like a fish. Eventually he lets out a sigh and suddenly Dean is terrified.

“You don’t mind, do you? I’ve been so worried what everyone would think. I mean, I know it’s weird but-”

“Geez no!” Sam all but yells and there’s a giant hand closing around Dean’s bicep, preventing him from drawing back further. “Wow. This is just – I just didn’t expect that. At all. I don’t care about ... you know. It’s – good actually. It’s great Cas makes you happy. Just give me a moment to digest that.” 

“Right,” Dean whispers, his head dropping to stare at the floor.

Silence. Embarrassment about what he just admitted settles in him. His cheeks burn and it takes all of his willpower to resist the urge to tell Sam how confused and ashamed he feels. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he say that to Sam?

Someone clears their throat and breaks the quiet, making him look up. The three cherubs have abandoned their drinking altogether, looking at the two of them with sheepish expressions.

“Well-“ the suit guy says reaching up to knead his neck to cover up his awkwardness, “It seems we might have – uhm, underestimated our influence on this place.”

“What?” Sam asks. Dean isn’t sure he’s currently aware how speaking works.

“We didn’t do it on purpose!” loin cloth pipes up, not meeting their eyes. “We didn’t mean to influence anyone.”

Suit guy steps forward, raising his hands to maybe soothe the situation. Maybe he just doesn’t know what else to do. He suddenly appears uncomfortable in his suit. “It seems we might have failed in appropriately controlling our grace. You see, a cherub’s aura, when in contact with human minds, clears and settles their emotions. It encourages humans to freely process and address their feelings and enables them to act on their true emotions. In our jovialness we might have … neglected to suppress them accordingly. The exposure to the combined leaking grace of three thoughtless cherubs would be enough to make a whole town act emotional. Or stir two individual in direct contact into emotional revelation.”

"You've got to be shittin' me," Dean says. He feels like he’s been hit in the face. Hard. And repeatedly.

“It might be best if we bring our festive activities to an end. The impact on the emotions of everyone impacted should dissolve within 12 hours of our departure, according to the individual duration of exposure.”

The two cherubs that remained sitting rise out of their seats and join the one in the suit. They all look pretty apologetic and they’re still swaying so Dean’s not sure the next place they visit is going to fare that much better. He doesn’t care as long as it’s far enough away he doesn’t have to deal with it. “We’re really sorry,” leotard mumbles and Dean half expects them to disappear with a flutter of their wings, but of course they’re cut off from heaven and have to use the door like everyone else. It swings shut with a defeated click.

They stare after them in silence. After a while, the thoughts in Dean’s head start to tangle again, rearranging themselves in their usual pattern of diffusion and the urge to address everything he’s feeling dissolves.

“Dean…” Sam starts but he can’t deal with this right now.

“Let’s not talk about this right now, okay?” he pleads and heads for the door. “I – I had more than enough feelings for one day.”

Why couldn’t they have taken the salt-and burn? That would have been so much less humiliating. As they walk back to the car he figures he can be at least grateful he didn’t team up with Cas after all. That would have been a fucking nightmare.

 

_2 days before Christmas Santa gave to them - 2 evergreen spirits._

The good thing about Christmas, besides eggnog, is it usually doesn’t inspire average people to perform any wicked rituals the way Halloween does. There’s monsters running loose and weird stuff suddenly showing up, but that’s due to things slipping through the weakened boundaries. Not because some bored suburban housewife decided to try out a demon summoning for laughs and accidentally ended up with the real deal. Demon summoning and ritual sacrifices aren’t exactly traditional Christmas activities. Nowadays, anyway. Therefore when several bodies with completely raw scratched faces show up in Kearney, Nebraska they all agree that there must be some creature on the loose.

Dean jumps at the opportunity to get out of the bunker and recommends that Mary should be the one accompanying him. Because it’s reasonable that Sam and Cas stay behind as they are far more familiar with the lore, modern technology and the depths of the bunker’s ancient knowledge than she is and therefore far more suitable to do the appropriate research on what they are dealing with. Not because Dean dreads facing either of them.

He knows he’s been hiding since they returned from the cherub case, locking himself inside his room under the pretense of watching Netflix and wrapping Christmas presents. Sam probably wants to talk about the whole confession thing they had down in Junction City. Maybe it would even be a good thing but there’s not much else he could say on any of the topics they broached. The emotions might be there for him to acknowledge now but it’s not any less scary. It doesn’t mean he knows what he wants any more than he did yesterday, so what’s he supposed to say? Hunting down some bad boys – or girls, or whatever - is a welcome distraction. He really can’t be expected to figure out this stuff when there’s evil to take down, right?

It’s not the quick hunt and kill he expects it to be. A trip to the local university dorm reveals there are no signs of sulfur, no indications of witchcraft and the EMF-meter comes up with exactly nothing. None of the three victims had known enemies or, as far as their friends and neighbors know, were involved in anything strange or abnormal. There is nothing remotely suspicious except for the badly mutilated corpses at the local police station and Dean doesn’t have any idea what else to do besides wait for Sam and Cas to dig up something useful during their research.

It’s Mary who finds the girls and what they’re dealing with. How she figured it out is a mystery to Dean but an evergreen wreath with four candles that sits on a table in one of the dorm rooms as a Christmas decoration is apparently unusual enough for her to strike up a conversation with its owners about its origin. One of them had seen it in a book about old European Christmas customs and decided it was a nice tradition to try out. They seem pretty proud about their unique decor element, happily handing Mary the book to show her the little song you’re supposed to sing when lightening the candles.

Turns out the girls had unknowingly summoned evergreen spirits. Nasty little creatures, with sharp claws, that don’t like to be summoned — ever. They’re traditionally only called by desperate people because they turn wrath onto everyone they stumble upon. It’s a miracle the girls weren’t shredded to pieces themselves.

Dean calls Sam about how to go about killing evergreen spirits. The process is surprisingly nonviolent, involving the burning of herbs and essences to cleanse the area of their presence. Unfortunately the required components are not exactly easy to come by but then not everyone has whole storage units of every magical ingredient imaginable at their disposal. Sam promises to be there with everything they need within two hours.

Mary convinces Dean to settle on a snowy bench in the nearby park while they wait. He’d much rather get himself some food or at least a hot coffee, but there’s not much resistance left in him when he sees the beguiled expression on his mother’s face as she watches the softly falling snowflakes.

They watch the flow of people passing them, a couple walking their dog, a woman carrying huge shopping bags and running children, laughing and squealing in delight while throwing snowballs at each other. On the far end of the park, they can just make out the silhouette of a woman, building what must be a snowman with two children. They are so wrapped up in thick coats, snow pants and gloves that from distance they appear as nothing more than round little blobs that regularly bump down into the snow. Mary sighs and Dean turns to see her watching them, a mournful look on her face. He quickly drops his head because going down that road again there isn’t anything but another bitter reminder how they are not really what his mother wanted at all – not enough.

“Sorry.”, she says and Dean can see in the corner of his eyes how she drops her gaze to the ground, awkwardly shuffling her feet in the snow.

Dean nods. He gets it. Really. They’re not what any mother would want her boys to be – broken, messed up, scarred. They’re different from what she’d expected, as much as she’s different from what Dean thought her to be and learning to live with that – it’s hard. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just-”

“-difficult. Yeah I know. Believe me, I know.” He turns to face her again and they look at each other for a while trying to find the right thing to say. Dean has to clench and unclench his fingers several times to keep them from freezing.

“It’s hard not fitting in,” Mary finally says and reaches for his hand, gently taking it into hers. Her fingers are probably cold but they’ve been out so long he doesn’t even feel it anymore. “You’re my family but sometimes it just doesn’t feel that way. And that’s not -” she continues, squeezing his hand a little harder when he’s about to protest, “because you’re doing something wrong or because you’re making me feel unwelcome. But the things we should have done, all the experiences we should have shared, we missed them and I mourn that.”

Dean has to look away and stares at the family again. His eyes are burning, because what the hell is he supposed to say to that? He’s not particularly fond of missing out on that stuff either. God knows he’d have preferred building snowmen in a park to learning to shoot monsters, but that’s not really something he can offer.

“And in the meantime you’ve created a family of your own. One that is incredibly close and you have so much love for one another, but it’s so different from what I ever wanted for you. You found a home. One I have never pictured you in and you choose a life I didn’t want you to choose. But that’s okay. That’s what kids are supposed to do, you know. Make their own choices, drive us mad, worry us, find their own way - And they usually end up choosing something we never thought they would and making us prouder than we thought possible.”

Dean notices his eyes must have fallen closed as he takes a shaky breath. There’s another hand on his arm now and his mother must have moved closer while she spoke because he can feel her warmth next to him. It’s incredibly comforting and unsettling at the same time.

“Mom,” he breathes but she doesn’t let him stop her and grabs him a little firmer.

“And I’m not part of that because I wasn’t there to share that journey with you. But I want to. And seeing thing like this ...” She nods in the direction of the now nearly finished snowman. “... makes me wish I had those shared memories with you too. To end up a part of the family my boys created of their own. Even if that means we’d still end up on a park bench today to hunt some monsters. But pretending that’s the way it was and that I fit right in isn’t the way it works. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Dean agrees. They missed that and no pretending can fix that. He rises to his feet, pulling her with her. He doesn’t want to pretend but that doesn’t mean they can’t have this. The family she refers to was made by time and experiences and memories, not only blood and heritage. That’s something there is always room to create some more. “Maybe we cannot pretend you’re part of that already, but we can always make new memories together.”

He grabs a bit of snow and squeezes it into a tiny ball, rolling it in the snow afterward. There’s something that sounds like half sob, half hiccup behind him and he turns around to this time grab his mother by her hand, pulling her along. “Come on mom.” he says, “Let’s build a snowman!”

They’re only halfway done when Sam and Cas show up and after successfully banishing two evergreen spirits back to where they belong, they all team up to finish what ends up looking more like a lopsided snow pile with twigs sticking out of its side than anything remotely resembling the shape of a man. Dean catches Mary observing him as with a fond expression, as he smiles at Cas fumbling with the stick-arms. By the time he climbs back into the car with his mother his hands are numb from the cold.

It’s a good memory.

 

 

[ ](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/154728189864/7-days-of-hunting-spn-holiday-mixtape-2016)

 

_1 day before Christmas Santa gave to them - an angel on a pine tree._

It’s a known fact that a Christmas tree topper has to either be a star or an angel. Nowadays there might be some people making more unconventional choices, like, ribbons, birds or any other kind of figure but the classics, that’s what gives a tree just that certain homey touch. They’re also boring as fuck.

That is why on the night before Christmas, Dean is standing on a ladder in the bunker’s war room to install his very own reinterpretation of a Christmas classic. It’s do it yourself, made out of cardboard, glue and ribbon. He even went to the store that day to get the picture he needed for the front of the cardboard piece printed on real photographic paper. Dean ties the ends of the ribbons around the treetop and steps down to survey his handiwork, unable to suppress an amused grin. It’s definitely a masterpiece.

The sound of footsteps echoes to him from the other side of the massive room and he turns around to determine who is approaching. A blush creeps up his face, when he notices it’s Cas. It’s partly because of his new awareness for the exact nature of the feelings he’s harboring for him but also because Cas is going to see the newest addition to the tree any second. Well there’s no time as the present, is there?

“Heya, Cas.” Dean gives him a slight wave and points at the tree. “Check out our new tree topper. What do you think, heh?”

Cas comes to a halt at his side and obediently raises his eyes. He frowns. “Dean, why am I on top of the Christmas tree?”

“Because you’re an angel, of course.” Dean grins and when that doesn’t seem enough of an explanation for Cas he adds, “You’re supposed to have an angel on top of the Christmas tree. And you’re even the real deal, not just some made up fluffy winged baby with golden curls.”

“Gabriel once wore curly blond hair when he appeared to the virgin Mary.”

Dean laughs and rolls his eyes. Of course he did. “That’s not the point, Cas. So what do you think?”

“Its-” Cas fixes his gaze on the cardboard cutout of himself, as if trying to estimate its artistic merits. “-accurate.”

“Geez. Thanks, Cas.” Dean chuckles and bumps him with a shoulder, “Way to make a guy feel confident.”

The touch makes him feel warm and content and he joins Cas in silently staring at the lights and mostly awful Christmas ornaments on the tree (- except for the bee. Dean is quite fond of that ornament to be honest). That’s one of the good things about him Dean thinks, that they can always share these moments where neither of them has to say or do anything beside enjoy each other’s presence. His whole body feels tingly from tip to toe. He wonders, would Cas mind it, if he knew? Probably not. He’s a thoroughly good being to his core.  Worst case, he’d be utterly confused.

There’s only one way to know and thus, Dean allows himself to reach out for once. Cas’ shirt feels smooth under his palm. He places it on the curve of Cas’ shoulder, letting the upper part of his arm rest along Cas’ back. It's hardly a declaration, but his breath still catches, as he waits for Cas to react.

Cas doesn’t move away though, doesn’t seem startled or surprised. If anything he leans into the touch, shifting ever so slightly and Dean could swear that it’s moving them even closer together.

“Thanks for including me in your Christmas festives, Dean. I really appreciate that,” Cas says after what might have been minutes or hours of standing there. Dean closes his eyes for a second before turning to face him, without letting go and it brings them so close Cas can probably feel his heart beating.

“Cas. We’re not including you.” He squeezes in what he hopes is a soothing and reassuring gesture, “You’re part of this. Same as Sam, mom and me. You’re part of this family. You know that, right?”

Cas nods and after years of studying the way he expresses emotions, Dean would be able to see how deeply touched he looks, how his face is filled with joy and relief at this admission, were he not completely distracted by the sensation of a hand curling into the fabric of his shirt around his bicep.

Dean feels anxious. This is outside of his comfort zone and he has no idea where this is heading, if it's even a good idea. But there’s a buzzing in his head that keeps him from moving away, instead pulling him forward into the comforting warmth of the body in front of him. His arms wrap around Cas’ back on their own accord, his head dropping to rest on Cas’ shoulder, while he’s pulled closer into the hug by warm hands that settle on Deans shoulder blades.

“You know that we want you here, right? That I want you here?” Dean breathes. Castiel probably wouldn’t be able to hear him if they weren’t this close.

“You do?”  Dean can feel Cas slightly turning his head to settle in the crook of Dean’s neck. His breath ghosts over Dean’s skin and Dean would likely break out in goosebumps if he weren’t so pleasantly warm throughout.

It makes it astonishingly less terrifying to lean his head forward and brush his nose against that spot behind Cas’ ear where his hairline begins. Between two stuttering breaths he remembers he’s supposed to answer. “Yeah, I do,” he whispers, “I always miss you when you’re gone.”

“I miss you too,” Cas sighs in return and shuffles a tiny bit closer.

Dean feels dizzy and closes his eyes, basking in the moment. It’s nothing grand. Just a slight change, a tiny step on a path they’re still traveling. But this tiny step, it changes everything.

 

 

[ ](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/154728189864/7-days-of-hunting-spn-holiday-mixtape-2016)

 

In spite of all of Sam and Dean’s doubts, they do get to celebrate Christmas this year. They have to hunt down a couple of vampires around midday, but there’s also a tree, cookies, presents and most important of all, a family. Maybe they’re a little bit unusual but that’s okay. They make do.

Mary gets Sam one of those super fancy all-vegan-bio-hair-conditioners from Lush and it’s only partly meant as a joke. Cas gifts Dean a vintage AC/DC shirt, which he puts on immediately, and Dean makes Sam wear the moose antlers for their very first annual family Christmas picture – taken on Dean’s cellphone with assistance of Sam’s extraordinarily long arms. It later find its way onto the common room shelve, right next to the one’s of Dean and Cas on Santa’s lap.

No one bats an eye when Dean works up the nerve to wrap his arm around Cas when they settle down on the couch to watch a cheesy Christmas movie. Sam just smiles and hands over a beer. Not a single comment is made, not even when Mary holds something above their heads, squealing “Mistletoe!” and Cas, who for once is familiar with a human custom and has apparently no reservations about public displays of affection, just turns his head around to quickly peck Dean on the lips. There’s also no comment when Dean’s face turns the appropriate color of a fire truck and he possibly starts to hyperventilate while Cas very obviously _snuggles_ back into his side, happily humming. Sam just silently hands over yet another beer.

It’s a good day. There’s Christmas dinner (which Dean cooks, not Mary), eggnog, laughter, and even some Christmas caroling. Yes, there are monsters, but also pie and calls from Donna, Garth, and Jody and the girls. They even try to make their second snowman, which doesn’t end as badly as the last one.

There are many new memories made that day and the years to follow and with every one of them, they grow together and further craft that silly, unusual, extraordinary thing that makes them a family.

From that year on the Winchesters do celebrate Christmas. They might be hunters and there’s always a job to do but there’s no rulebook that says what Christmas is supposed to look like.

**Author's Note:**

> So I signed up for this challenge in October because I wanted to challenge myself to write a short little one shot and because I really wanted to do a Christmas collaboration with thefriendlypigeon. Of course everything got totally out of hand and instead I ended up writing this ~13000 word piece. For me that was a lot of work but it was also super fun and I’d like to thank two people who accompanied me on the way:
> 
> [museaway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway), for stepping in and offering to Beta the thing. She did an amazing job and this is so much nicer and awesome because of her. All credit for this not being a super awkward mess goes to her. (And still feel like super hyped, overwhelmed she did this because I’m a big fan of her work)
> 
> [thefriendlypigeon](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/), my best friend, partner in crime, first cheerleader and illustrator of this story. She’s an amazing artist and you should all go check out her tumblr and artmasterpost. She deserves all the love! I am a very lucky human to have her in my life and I’m super grateful she’s always ready to work on all the silly projects and requests I come up with (while most times I sit at the sidelines, offer all the comments, and helpfully hold the glue). Thanks for putting up with me, this one is for you! As always.
> 
> And of course everyone on the [SPN Holiday Mixtape Challenge](http://holidaymixtape.tumblr.com/) for organizing or participating in this little project. There are Christmas stories being posted all throughout December so if you’re still looking for something to read over the holidays check out their tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank _you_ for reading and Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or Happy Whatever-You’re-Celebrating. 
> 
> If you want you can find me on tumblr [here](http://itsmajel.tumblr.com/). Feedback is as always highly appreciated and if you liked this story, [please consider reblogging on Tumblr.](http://holidaymixtape.tumblr.com/post/154769229657/title-7-days-of-hunting-written-by-itsmajel)


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